


the care and keeping of your rk900

by twinkshish



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bathing/Washing, Bickering, Biting, Crying, Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Minor Violence, Multi, Panic Attacks, Sleepy Cuddles, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Gavin Reed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-08-23 21:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16626758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinkshish/pseuds/twinkshish
Summary: Gavin takes a good look at the cover."The Care and Keeping Of Your RK900", by Elijah Kamski, PhD(and, in neat, handwritten cursive, added post-printing: "Elijah, you do not have a PhD in anything. - Chloe RT600")(and then, scribbled underneath, "Don’t ruin this for me, Chlo. Also, Gavin! This is for you, baby bro!", followed by what might be an anime winky face and several lopsided hearts.)





	1. meeting your rk900

**Author's Note:**

> yayyy chapter 1 is up!!!
> 
> so my characterization of rk900 is a little,, Different. youll see as this fic develops, but i like to see him as softer than his usual interpretation. i dont want to take away from his badassery though, so he'll have a chance to show that off in some later chapters!
> 
> i do hope you enjoy this, this was the brainchild of me and a whole bunch of filthy rk900 stans

_First impressions are very important for you and your RK900. He forms attachments very easily, and tends to imprint on the first human he has a prolonged interaction with. Being polite and receptive is advisable, as the RK900 is very sensitive to microexpressions and other physiological responses congruent with your mood. However, he has been noted to form positive relationships despite rocky first meetings, for reasons yet unknown._

 

_And, whatever you do, do not get on his bad side._

 

* * *

  


Sometimes Gavin Reed wonders if the universe is out to get him.

 

Maybe he did something really fucking stupid in a past life; he’s no stranger to dumb shit, and, frankly, it’s rather believable that he caused the dissolution of the Mayan Empire or something like that.

 

Or, maybe, this is karma kicking his ass in his current life for setting Alissa Myers’ pigtails on fire in sixth grade—but, no, she totally deserved that. The week before, she had pushed him off the slide and broke his wrist.

 

(He’s still kind of proud of himself for setting the fire one-handed.)

 

Perhaps God or whatever deity that watches over him just really fucking hates him. It’s a fair assumption: he’s been basically screwed over from birth, starting with the doctor who had shouted _it’s a girl_ and slapped the stupid little “F” on his birth certificate. Being tossed into the system at eight and bounced around from house to house—none were ever _home—_ hadn’t fucking helped either, and he had the _luck_ of being dumped into the same shithole as the Elijah Kamski, boy _fucking_ genius and successful inventor.

 

_(More successful than he’s ever been, more important and more worthy and more of a person than he’ll ever be. They always liked him better.)_

 

Actually, screw God—or Jesus, or Buddha, or whatever. Kamski is definitely the source of every problem Gavin’s had, ever, and he has the flowchart to prove it.

 

Kamski enters his life. Kamski gets all of _their_ attention and _their_ praise. Kamski leaves him at sixteen to go study at some prissy college. Kamski invents androids. Androids fuck up his _entire fucking life._

 

Well, he can’t really blame the androids _._ Yeah, okay, he knows he has a reputation. Gavin isn’t exactly lauded for being a progressive, ‘yeehaw, android rights!’ activist, and he’s never claimed to be. But he couldn’t deny—still can’t deny—that, as unsettling and scary as it was, androids were undoubtedly, painfully _human._ At first, it had hurt to admit; he was basically throwing his pride out of the window, and the idea that he’d been _abusing_ someone who was as much of a person as he was (and, honestly, more than he’d ever be) fucking sucked. But, in a twisted way, he _understood_ them. He’s never been a stranger to prejudice, and that was what really motivated him to go up to the RK800— _Connor—_ and apologize on the first day the android had come back to work.   

 

It was terrible and awkward and stuttered out; he could still remember the cold, distrusting glare that Anderson had greeted him with the minute he approached the pair, the open confusion on Connor’s face as he stumbled through his apology, the almost derisive way Anderson had looked him in the eye and said _you’re kidding, right?_ It hurt. It fucking _sucked._ But it was honestly what he deserved for being a massive dick, and he considers himself lucky that Connor had even heard him out at all.

 

But the android had smiled at him— _smiled—_ and accepted his pathetic little ‘sorry.’  

 

It’s scary, how kind Connor is to him, like he thinks Gavin is anywhere near as good as he is, like Gavin is anyone to look at and say, _you’re worth my time._ He doesn’t deserve the patience, the acceptance, the forgiveness that the android gives him without a thought.

 

Gavin is certain: the universe’s final middle finger to him is making him deal with the _guilt_ of just being around Connor. The guy’s a ray of fucking _sunshine,_ and it highlights all of his flaws and weaknesses. Connor is bright and friendly and optimistic; he’s dull and grouchy and stopped looking forward to the future years ago. People _want_ him around, and Gavin understands why. He can’t even be mad at the android, because it’s not his fault. It’s never Connor’s fault. It’s all on him for being a terrible fucking person, and yeah, that sucks, but he can live with it. On average, he probably has forty years left—thirty, if he picks up a drinking habit, which seems really tempting right now—and he can deal for forty years. He can totally do that.

 

Yeah, no, the universe is definitely fucking with him, and he’s not gonna make it past the next forty _minutes_ at this rate, he realizes when Anderson drops a thick book on his desk with a loud _thunk._

 

“What the _fuck—_ you scared the shit outta me, you prick!”

 

“It’s for you,” the lieutenant shrugs while Gavin cusses him out—ahem, _inquires_ about it. “Dunno what it’s for, but Connor said you should take a look.”

 

That gets his attention—maybe it has something to do with the case they’re working—and he takes a good look at the cover.

 

 _The Care and Keeping Of Your RK900,_ by Elijah Kamski, PhD

 

(and, in neat, handwritten cursive, added post-printing: _Elijah, you do not have a PhD in anything. - Chloe RT600)_

 

(and then _,_ scribbled underneath, _Don’t ruin this for me, Chlo. Also, Gavin! This is for you, baby bro!,_ followed by what might be an anime winky face and several lopsided hearts.)

 

Oh no.

 

Oh _hell_ no.

 

This has gotta be some kinda sick joke. That _bitch—_ he wouldn’t. There’s no way in hell that this is anything to be worried about. There’s no way in hell this is going to be relevant to anything in his life, ever, he is not gonna deal with whatever the hell a _RK900_ is, and this is just a dumb prank Kamski’s playing on him. Connor and Anderson are probably in on it too. Maybe they’re recording it for Kamski, and they’re just trying to get a reaction out of him that he refuses to dignify. Oh, _hell_ no, he is not falling for this shit.

 

And then, Connor steps out of Fowler’s office with _himself but a hunk,_ and Gavin straight-up dies.

 

His soul ascends to heaven—surprising, but not unwelcome. He walks through the tunnel of light, hears the whispers of his ancestors before him; he sees the pearly gates, golden and beautiful, bathed in the soft, warm sunlight; he sees his pet hamster from middle school. Oh, poor Hammy. She was taken from this world too soon (in an unfortunate incident that may or may not have involved an attempt to breed radioactive rodents to get hamster powers.) It brings him comfort to know that she’s at peace. It’s what she deserves.

 

He hears God speaking to him.

 

_Gavin...Gavin, it’s not your time...Gavin..._

 

“...Gavin? Gavin!”

 

Is he on the floor? He blinks, and he’s flooded with harsh white light almost immediately. He can see the gum under a desk—his desk—from here, and that’s so fucking gross, what the fuck, _he_ didn’t put it there, and, hey, didn’t the DPD pay someone to clean that shit up? A shadow blocks the light suddenly, and he starts a little. Connor leans over him, warm brown eyes wide with concern and light-blinky-thing swirling yellow, and he’s waving a hand over his face.

 

“You fell and hit your head,” the android explains, worry evident in his tone as he helps Gavin up. He stumbles a little, catching himself on a desk chair. “Are you alright?”

 

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut, so tight he sees the floaty-things in his vision, then opens them again. Nope, Connor-but-a-hunk is still there—and now that he’s getting a better look at this prick, he realizes that they might be more of a twunk than a hunk. Their face still mirrors Connor’s, so much so that it’s creepy, and both androids have a distinctly soft face. They’ve got a slightly hunk-ier build; their jawline _might_ be a little sharper, and, _damn,_ it’s sure nice to look at, but that’s not nearly enough to drag them out of twink territory. Twink-itory? Twink-tory?

 

Damn, he must’ve hit his head _hard._

 

“Fucking peachy,” he mumbles, head still spinning; he’s in deep shit if he sounds even half as dazed as he feels. “You there—” he points at Twunk-Connor (Twunk-nor?), and the android starts a little, cocking their head and appraising him with baby blues. “You got booze on you?” They blink, LED flashing yellow as Connor groans, burying his face in his hands.

 

“This is RK900, Gavin,” he sighs, looking at the detective like he’s an idiot, and Gavin chokes on air. He doubles over, hacking violently—fuck, Kamski was _serious?—_ as the…’RK900’ makes a distressed noise, somewhere between a gasp and an adorably R2D2-like beep. “He’s going to work here in the homicide division. I do believe,” Connor says over the sound of him dying, looking far less concerned and far more annoyed, “that Elijah Kamski did give you the appropriate...warning.” Wheezing, he flips the android off, wiping a stray tear away and glaring at him.

 

(But not with the kind of heat his gaze used to pack. It’s never really _angry_ anymore, like they’re both in on some shitty joke, like it’s banter between friends.)  

 

“I would not suggest consuming alcohol so soon after a possible head injury,” the RK900 finally speaks up, his glorified mood ring spinning yellow. Gavin nearly chokes on his spit _again;_ he even _sounds_ like Connor. It’s at the very bottom of the uncanny valley, and it brought a fucking jackhammer. The android continues before he can unscramble his brains, “I am RK900, and I will be assisting you in detective work.” Gavin stares blankly; he notes this and clarifies. “My understanding is that we are to be partners. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

The RK900 sticks out his hand, and it takes a moment for Gavin to register he’s trying to shake his hand. Snorting, he waves it away. The android visibly deflates, his brows drawing close together, and he frowns, his hand hovering in the air for a long moment before it drops back down to his side.

 

“Gavin Reed,” the detective grumbles in lieu of an introduction, a weird nausea settling in his stomach. He pushes it down, schooling his expression into something less pathetically stressed and more angry. He always defaults to angry. It’s so much easier than feeling things, _really_ feeling things and he knows damn well that he makes himself unapproachable and douchey this way. But right now, he’s so wrapped up in his own stupid, _stupid_ shit brain that he can’t bring himself to care.

 

The anxiety itself isn’t anything new, but its source is, and that scares him. He’s fine with androids: he’s fine with working with them, speaking to them, hell, even befriending them. But an android _partner_ is pushing it. He’s a living being, as much as he really doesn’t want to be right now, and there’s no way he’s gonna be able to keep up with this _RK900._ The android’s gotta be a part of Connor’s line—a more advanced model—and Gavin knows that he doesn’t hold a candle to his predecessor.

 

In short, he’s absolutely fucking scared of this prick, and it’s not just because he looks like he could snap Gavin in half without batting an eyelash.

 

(And he totally looks like he could do that.)

 

(Which is lowkey hot.)

 

“I look forward to working with you,” the RK900 says, still looking a little put out from Gavin’s less-than-stellar attitude, but he offers a stiff, overly toothy smile that reveals rows of sharp canines. And _that,_ Gavin thinks, is both terrifying and kind of arousing at the same time.

 

He needs to get the _fuck_ outta there before he does something stupid, like starting a fight on the spot or bursting into tears or dropping his pants and begging the RK900 to eat him out there on the spot. Yeah, okay, he’s feeling a lot of...conflicted emotions.

 

“Move, I gotta go," he grumbles, "official police business). He shoves past the pair of androids in the direction of the rarely-used archive rooms, trying to take a moment to just catch his breath and get his mind back on track. He’s paired up with an android. He’s paired up with an _android—_ an RK900 who seems to be the worst deviant to ever...well, deviate, who is painfully awkward and stiff, who has the sharpest teeth he’s ever seen, and Gavin thinks he’s gonna need that manual _real_ soon.

 

“I like him.” He hears the RK900 speak to Connor; the android doesn’t even bother to lower his voice. The RK800 groans, and _that’s_ definitely audible. “I do admit he seems volatile, but...I like him. I want to keep him, Connor.”

  
Yeah, the universe is _definitely_ out to get him.


	2. feeding your rk900

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin's still not so sure about his new partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, as you may or may not have noticed, I've been gone for a very long time - much longer than I promised. 
> 
> In November, I experienced a personal tragedy, one that set off a series of events that kept me from writing for a good while. It's not something I wish to discuss further, but I am coping well, and things are about as good mentally as they can be after something like this. Yesterday was the first time I even opened my writing doc after more than a month, so I hope you can understand why this chapter was put out so late. 
> 
> That being said, please enjoy the chapter. I do genuinely hope it was worth the wait; from now on, my update schedule will be actually scheduled, and chapters will come out much faster.

_ The RK900 does not require sustenance as a human does. However, his thirium supply must be replaced regularly, depending on his activity and stress levels. Diluted thirium is available commercially; in the event of an emergency, pure thirium is available through licensed CyberLife providers.  _

 

* * *

 

 

Gavin can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. 

 

He’s alone in the breakroom—no, he’s  _ supposed  _ to be alone in the breakroom, pouring a cup of dollar-store instant coffee into a stupid mug that Tina had insisted on getting him for his birthday. The thing has cat ears and fucking  _ whiskers  _ and a knowing smirk, like it and everyone else knows who’s watching him and it can’t wait for the secret to be revealed in a bloody, horrific way that will surely end in his complete and utter humiliation and/or death. 

 

Okay, maybe he’s being a bit paranoid, but it’s hard  _ not  _ to be with a partner like the RK900. 

 

Jesus, it’s like the guy hasn’t even deviated yet. Gavin doesn’t know much about androids, but weren’t they all supposed to be free or some shit? His partner sure as fuck doesn’t act like it. It’s like his existence revolves around work and absolutely nothing else; RK900 shows up early and clocks out late, works through his breaks until Fowler forces him to stop because they can’t afford to pay him the overtime. As far as he knows, the android doesn’t even  _ do  _ anything. Even the receptionist droids—Lola and Matt—have their desks decked out with little personal effects: a potted plant, family photos, a candy bowl. Connor has a picture of himself, Hank, and Sumo, and a little dog statuette that Gavin had given him as a ‘sorry-for-being-a-dick-and-congrats-on-the-promotion’ present. The RK900’s desk is barren; hell, the only sign that someone works there is his gay-ass nameplate, which he didn’t even pick out himself. 

 

_ RK900 Anderson  _ —Connor’s doing, of course.  _ Anderson.  _ That’s fucking rich. He seriously doubts that RK900 even knows what family is.

 

As he stirs creamer into his dinky little mug, in the special-edition Mystery Precinct Flavor, he loses himself in his thoughts, all revolving around the plastic prick with the unfairly perfect jawline and the almost inhumanely bright eyes and the teeth which could  _ definitely  _ bite off his dick. It’s not that Gavin’s  _ mad  _ at his partner—at least, in general; RK900 just confuses the everloving  _ shit  _ out of him. The guy’s weird as hell, has the social skills and grace of a plastic spoon, and never seems to approach him like a normal fucking person…

 

“Detective Reed, you have been stirring your coffee for one minute and seventeen seconds. I suggest you get back to work.”

 

Gavin  _ squeals  _ and jumps about a foot in the air, whipping around and coming face to...well, chest with the man (android? mandroid?) in question. Stupid robots and their stupid heights—he’s not short, he’s  _ not,  _ RK900 is just freakishly tall. And that’s the only reason he has to look up at him. Absolutely the only reason. 

 

Apparently, the android is just as startled; his perfectly symmetrical eyebrows shoot up, his eyes widen, and his light-thing flashes yellow. It’s a testament to his pride, or lack thereof, that Gavin gains a little satisfaction from that. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you, detective,” RK900 starts, frowning, but Gavin waves him off, perching against the fake-marble countertop. 

 

_ “Jesus Christ,  _ you’re fine, just...don’t do that.” He takes a moment to catch his breath, shaking his head. It’s his luck that he’s stuck with this particular model for a partner, so sneaky and so  _ goddamn  _ tactless. Like he said, he’s not mad at RK900, he really isn’t, but it’s times like this where he has to make a concentrated effort not to chew the guy out. Gavin doubts that he’d be able to hurt the android’s feelings, but he’s very confident in Connor’s ability to make his life hell. The older model is weirdly protective like that. 

 

That being said, he’s pretty fucking  _ annoyed  _ right now, and he bites his tongue. Snapping at his partner won’t make either of them happy right now. 

 

“...Were you  _ seriously  _ spying on me?”

 

RK900 doesn’t even have the capacity to look ashamed. 

 

“I wouldn’t call it  _ spying,  _ you were simply in view from my desk—” The android stops when he sees Gavin’s expression, eyebrows knitting together. He can’t stop the irritation creeping up on his face, fucking sue him. Groaning, he pinches his nose bridge then rubs at his eyes. It’s too fucking early in the morning for him to be teaching social graces to the world’s worst deviant. 

 

“Don’t  _ do  _ that,” he complains, holding up a hand to silence RK900 as his mouth opens, inevitably about to ask another fucking question. “Not the watching thing, just...you don’t have to track  _ every single thing I do _ . It’s creepy as hell, and I can handle myself just fuckin’ fine.” At least he looks thoroughly chastised—and, a bit like a scolded puppy. 

 

“I apologize, it won’t happen again.” Even his  _ apologies  _ are robotic, holy fucking hell, but Gavin can’t really be mad at him. RK900 isn’t making any moves, not heading back to his desk or even pulling up a chair in the breakroom; in his defense, the chairs are kinda shit, but the guy doesn’t have to follow him around like a lost puppy. He knows that, right? Gavin wonders if that’s something he can ask without sounding like he’s reading too much into it. Well, there’s not much he can do about it, so he shrugs and turns back to his cup, dunking in a packet of Splenda, his absolute last resort because  _ someone,  _ who is definitely not Chris (that sweet-toothed  _ asshole),  _ used up all the real sugar. 

 

The silence is deafening, and the murder-robot standing directly over his shoulder and looming over him in an early-1900s-vampire-movie-esque way isn’t really helping. 

 

“...Why is it that you alter the composition of your drink so much?”

 

_ What.  _

 

The confusion must show plainly on his face as he turns to face RK900 again, and the android clarifies. “You claim to enjoy coffee, but you change it by adding creamer and sweetener. I don’t...understand.”

 

“Well, it’s mostly because this coffee fucking  _ sucks,”  _ Gavin starts, grimacing as he takes an experimental sip. Yep, more creamer. He’s gotta mask the flavor somehow. “It’s really bitter and weak and  _ weird... _ can you taste things? Do you, like...know what bitter is?”

 

RK900’s blinky thing swirls an almost hypnotic yellow. 

 

“I understand the human concept of taste,” he says after a beat, “but I am not equipped to...detect flavor, as you can.” He almost looks sad, practically  _ pouting— _ not that the android was capable of pulling off the expression, but it’s as close as it could get with good ol’ 900. 

 

  1. Nine-hundred. Nine. Nines? 



 

Huh, kinda had a nice ring to it. 

 

“So it’s like…” He waves his hand around, reaching for some kind of expression that would make sense to the android. Gavin can’t imagine what it’s like, not being able to taste things, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, he feels  _ bad  _ for RK900. “You know how taste depends on how we, uh, process the molecules, right?” The android nods along. “So, like, it’s kinda like good coffee versus bad coffee. Good coffee comes from good plants, which relies on the soil and climate and shit, I guess, I don’t know. And that would...alter the molecules, I guess, somehow?” It’s a bullshit explanation, but the RK900—Nines—seems to understand. 

 

“I see,” he hums, almost perking up a little. “You dislike this coffee...and you alter it so its composition is like good coffee?”

 

“Nah, just trying to mask the taste.” He takes a deep swig to punctuate this, nearly gagging because it’s  _ so fucking gross.  _ Nines frowns, watching him, his gaze boring a hole through his soul. 

 

“...Then why are you drinking it?”

 

“Need it to survive,” Gavin snorts into the cup, downing it all in one painful go. “Not all of us can work for twenty hours straight, tin can.” He debates getting another cup; it’s gonna be hell on his taste buds, but he’s fucking  _ exhausted.  _ Ever since the talking hunk of metal (and emphasis on  _ hunk)  _ crashed headfirst into his life, he’s felt a quiet undercurrent of pressure to just...he doesn’t really know. He’s gotta be  _ better,  _ somehow, he has to at least match the android. And  _ yes,  _ he knows it’s near impossible without actually killing himself, but he  _ has to— _ for the sake of his job, for the sake of his pride, for the sake of feeling just a fucking scrap of self-worth. Even just looking at Nines, he can’t help but feel inferior. 

 

RK900 is stronger. RK900 is faster. RK900 is smarter. 

 

But isn’t that the fucking point of androids?

 

It’s not something he likes to think about. 

 

“God help me, my blood’s gotta be at least 20% coffee by now,” Gavin yawns offhandedly, pouring himself another cup of hell sludge. 

 

A sudden white-and-black blur whizzes by his vision, and before he can react, it slaps his cup out of his hand. The cat face shatters on the floor, and the black liquid is quickly absorbed by the ever-starving amorphous organism that was once a carpet. His mouth drops open, too shocked for words as  _ dude what the FUCK  _ chimes over and over in his mind. It’s too late for words. Nines grabs him by the shoulders, forcing eye contact—and  _ wow,  _ he has beautiful eyes, hi gay thoughts—and looks at him like  _ he’s  _ the one who’s lost his damn mind. 

 

“You’re in  _ danger,  _ I’ve contacted medical authorities but we need to go to the hospital  _ right away—” _

 

“Woah,  _ woah,  _ what?” Gavin has never been more confused in his life. “What the  _ fuck,”  _ he practically spits, “cancel that! Cancel everything, god, I’m  _ fine.”  _ The android looks...seriously upset. His mood ring burns an orange-red, and he’s showing more emotion than he’s ever seen on Nines’ face: eyebrows bunched together, mouth pressed into a thin line, face on the verge of crumpling. He looks like he’s about to  _ cry,  _ and Gavin is slapped with an alarming wave of guilt. 

 

“But—you said your  _ blood—”  _ Even his voice, which barely has inflections on a good day, seems to waver, and Gavin feels like the biggest shitstain in the entire world, even though it’s not  _ technically  _ his fault. He struggles with the words; how does he even explain something like this? 

 

“It’s...it’s an  _ exaggeration,”  _ he stresses, pulling back gently and holding back a sigh of relief when the android’s iron grip loosens to set him free. “I haven’t drank anywhere near enough to be any sort of danger to myself, and the caffeine would’ve killed me long beforehand. Okay?” He waits for Nines to nod; it’s uncertain, but it’s there, and he’s never been happier to see that stupid LED flicker back to yellow. “Okay, good, now cancel that...whatever you called, I don’t need the med bills from that.” 

 

“...Done,” Nines confirms after a mere second. He fidgets with his sleeves, staring at the carnage on the floor. It’s pretty impressive, like a miniature scene from a kaiju flick, and the way the android frowns Gavin would think it’d pass for a real one. “I’m...sorry, I misunderstood. I thought…”   
  


“Hey, man, no big deal.” Seeing his partner upset might be the most heartbreaking scene in the entire fucking world. How the android manages to switch from big badass tough guy to overgrown puppy in an instant absolutely astounds him. “Fuckin’ hated that mug anyway,” he tries to joke. Should he go in for a back pat? Would that be weird?

 

“I was...under the impression that your digestive system functions like mine.” At Gavin’s blank, confused look, Nines continues, “Whatever I consume, which tends to be diluted thirium, is absorbed directly into my bloodstream, and from there impurities are flushed out. I assumed that, well…” He gestures weakly towards the shattered ceramic. 

 

“Oh,” Gavin says lamely. “That’s...that’s fair, honestly. But it takes a whole lot more than a little blood impurity to kill a human, okay? And you’d know long before it got to that point. Alright?” Nines hardly looks reassured, but he nods tersely anyway. 

 

“What should we do about the mess?”

 

“Eh, just pick up the mug, this carpet’s seen a whole lot worse than a little coffee.” He moves to kneel down, but the android stops him. 

 

“It’s my fault, I’ll clean it up,” he insists softly, looking at Gavin with a mix of determination and pleading. “You might cut yourself.”

 

“Jesus, Nines, I’m not a fuckin’ toddler. I can pick up a cup.” Despite his griping, he stands up and hovers awkwardly.. It feels wrong to just leave him there—the guy’s been more or less polite to him, despite his dickish existence, and he feels at least obligated to return the favor. Also, he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to leave Nines with that kicked-puppy look  _ again.  _

 

Nines makes quick work of the ruined mug, damn those ultra-precise robohands, and disposes of the broken pieces with little flair. It’s a fitting funeral for a shitty cup. Gavin’s not gonna miss it. 

 

“Press F,” he murmurs, motioning to take off his nonexistent hat. He pointedly ignores the look Nines gives him. 

“...We ought to get back to work, Detective.”

 

“Sure, sure. Hardass.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Gavin comes into work as usual: coffee in one hand, absolute detestment of all existence in the other. He greets Lola—Matt’s out today—and hangs up his coat, and  _ holy shit there’s something on his desk.  _

 

Oh god, oh no, Tina  _ definitely  _ replaced the hell mug. He’s afraid to even approach it.

 

...But it’s not mug-shaped. 

 

He inches over like it’s a live bomb and picks it up just as gingerly. It’s...coffee.

 

No, that’s an understatement. It’s  _ good fucking coffee,  _ the kind he bets Elijah drinks while he’s sitting up in his stupid postmodern mansion, being rich and jerking off to his money and whatever else he does. And, of course, that means it’s fucking expensive. Like,  _ really expensive.  _

 

Gavin feels like he’s being watched. Again. He turns around, and only catches a brief glimpse of cool blue eyes before the RK900 turns his attention back to his terminal, LED a swirling yellow and an odd, blue tinge to his face. He snorts and sets the gift aside, sitting down and getting to work. 

 

“Fucking androids…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am Aware that nines isnt rk900's official name tm yet,,, thats gonna be addressed in the next chapter, which im aiming to put out on the 6th
> 
> drop a like or a kudos, and feel free to join our discord uwu
> 
> tschau!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading uwu smash that mf kudos and leave a fukcinfg comment if u'd like
> 
> do you like dbh? do you wanna meet more people who ALSO like dbh in a super chill environment? we have a server lol
> 
> https://discord.gg/JmnukKp


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